The Illuminated Donkey

Posting from Donkey Command Central, in the Central District of the Emerald City.

August 30, 2002

Where Will Ken Go? It's turning into a rout! Here's the latest voting:

Seattle: 44%

New York City: 24%

Texas Gravel Pit: 12%

New Jersey: 9%

Witness Relocation: 7%

Dublin, Georgia: 3%

A lot of folks have complained about the one-vote-a-day rule, so starting now voting will be unlimited, though readers with computers which contain a dangerously high level of radioactive asbestos may find themselves restricted to the original one-a-day rule. Our apologies.

I'm heading to the U.S. Open tomorrow night, and it should be pretty sweet. I've gone once before, and with its multitude of simultaneous matches and (mostly) open seating, it was possibly the most enjoyable sporting event I've ever attended.

I'm not sure what players I'll get to see (they don't announce the schedule until that day), but I'm hoping that whatever matches I check out will be better than this travesty. I don't have a lot of experience with tennis stats, but I'm guessing that 40 unforced errors in a two-set match (an average of over two-and-a-half a game) ain't what you're looking for out of Kournikova. I just hope that this doesn't affect her endorsement deals.

Goddamn I'm pissed. Screw them all. They could have had this settled yesterday, or last week, last month, but they wanted us to go to sleep last night panicked, spend the day hitting the refresh button on MSNBC, and now be eternally grateful because they worked "tirelessly" "through the night" to save baseball. Well, eff the players, and eff the owners, and eff their not-a-whit-of-difference agreement.

I'm an idiot. After 30 years on this planet I still haven't learned that if there's a cool event or concert I should get the tickets right away rather than lollygagging and hope a pair of tickets magically appear in my mailbox. I did that with the Mr. Show Live! show coming up, and I just did it again with the tons of great stuff that's part of the New Yorker Festival (I'm not linking to it because you'll just go check it out and see everything that's sold out and hate me as much as a friend of mine who I just severely disappointed by doing the same thing.).

Anyway, if anybody bought any tickets to the NYF that they can't use, please give me a heads-up since there's a good chance I'll want them. Or maybe you could just take me with you; I'm nice, and I sometimes say amusing things (but only after the show), and I've been known to pick up a beer tab.

August 28, 2002

A communication mixup put Packers halfback Jason Brookins' brief Green Bay career on hold. On Tuesday, the day NFL teams had to trim their rosters to 65 players, Brookins was asked for his playbook by a Packers official. He thought the request meant that he was being released. What he didn't know was that it was for some late additions to his playbook prior to Friday's game against the Titans. By then, it was too late. Brookins had already gotten in his car, turned off his cell phone and headed to his offseason home in Missouri.

After spending Tuesday trying to get ahold of the incommunicado Brookins, on Wednesday Packers coach Mike Sherman was apparently unsure if he wanted Brookins to bother to make the drive back to Green Bay. Not exactly the story you want to tell your friends back home when they asked what happened to that promising NFL career.

Now, what makes the ATP site especially browseworthy is its listing of the prize money won by each player in every tour appearance. You may know that the U.S. Open winner will cash in for a cool $900K, but I bet you didn't know that Chang picked up only $7200 for that Calabasas win (by contrast, every player in the Open will take home at least $11,000).

I'm used to only hearing about the big paydays, so it's fascinating for me to check out the record of some low-level grinder: $1460 here, a couple of not-worth-the-trip $520 checks, a big $9700 score. It's a good look at how the other half lives.

Lane McFadden is just as important as he always was, except now he's being all important in Alaska, clerking for a federal judge in Fairbanks. Adjust your links accordingly, and keep an eye out for the first-even Alaskan BloggerBash.

August 26, 2002

August 25, 2002

Do you want to read something absolutely frigging beautiful? I mean so frigging beautiful that you'll start weeping like a teeny tiny little baby? Then go read Christopher "Spoons" Kanis's tale of how a simple blog post led to an Instapundit link, which then led to...well, I'm not gonna give it away, but it's frigging beautiful. Sniff.

Where Will Ken Go? It's turning into a rout! Here's the latest voting:

Seattle: 44%

New York City: 24%

Texas Gravel Pit: 12%

New Jersey: 9%

Witness Relocation: 7%

Dublin, Georgia: 3%

A lot of folks have complained about the one-vote-a-day rule, so from now on you can vote eleventy-jillion times a day, though users with computers which contain a dangerously high level of radioactive asbestos may find themselves restricted to the original one-a-day rule.

There have certainly been better relievers in baseball, but almost nobody can boast a more unique set of accomplishments.

Wilhelm didn't make his debut until he was 28, but would pitch until he was nearly 49, appearing in 1,070 games, a record that stood for almost 30 years.

That 1952 rookie year was perhaps his best. He appeared in a record 71 games for the pennant-contending Giants, won 15 and saved 11, led the league in ERA, and finished fourth in MVP voting. Famously, he hit a home run in his first at-bat, the only homer of his career. (There are reports that he hit the only triple of his career in his second at-bat, but this may be apocryphal.)

The following year, Wilhelm started 27 games, winning 15 with a 2.19 ERA. He became the first pitcher to win ERA titles in both leagues. Despite his success, he would start only 15 more games in his career.

Though he never led the league, he retired with a record 227 saves (Wilhelm is now no longer in the top 20).

There's something about relievers like Wilhelm, Quisenberry, and Tekulve that make them natural favorites for guys like me who were not shall we say, blessed with athletic ability. I'll always remember watching Tekulve in one of his last games making the unbelievably hyped Gregg Jefferies look completely ridiculous, swinging at pitches nowhere near the zone. I'm sure fans who got to watch Wilhelm pitch have their own favorite moments like that.

Are You Ready to Rock?!?! Were you walking around your city or town last night, wondering where all the rock had gone? "Gee," you may have thought, "there was plenty of rock here just last night. Where'd it all go?"

The answer, my friends, is The Knitting Factory in Lower Manhattan, home of last night's unbelievably good Jason Loewenstein show. I went into the show cold, not really knowing anything other than that he was/is (see, I don't even know that) in Sebadoh, a band whose CD's I listened to once or twice a few years back. I went with my friend Little C-Za, a rabid fan who had been having a rough day involving low water pressure and a hastily rented Wet-Vac.

Anyway, it was one of the best damn shows I've ever seen. There were only three people in the band, but it sound like fifty, a symphony blasting out a pure sonic wall of rock. Many beers were downed, several devil finger-signs were spotted, and a cabride up to Penn Station was spent in breathless wonder (other than the few moments when our driver slammed on his brakes to avoid a carful of dipshits who had to park RIGHT THERE!).

The Jakerock site lists the tour dates (Jeez, they're in Pittsburgh tonight, a long freaking ways-away, that's gotta be worth something), and if he's playing near you and you don't go see them then you're not my friend.

August 24, 2002

My enjoyment ruined, one article at a time. The abovementioned Little C-ZA and I are heading to the U.S. Open next weekend, something I have been looking forward to a great deal. Sure, our main stadium seats are in Row Z, but there's plenty of outer-court action, and maybe there's bunches of AA-ZZ rows that we can look up on. Besides, Little C-Za's last name begins with a Z, so maybe it's good luck.

While the best tennis venues provide a sense of intimacy, Ashe's double-decker stack of luxury boxes, located immediately above the courtside seats, pushes everyone else higher, making fans in the upper deck feel as if they're watching tennis through the wrong end of a telescope.

Just how bad is it? Fans in the depressingly designated Row Z at the very top of Ashe, peering at a court a fraction of the size of a baseball diamond, sit 120 feet in the air, higher even than their counterparts at neighboring Shea Stadium.

New Jersey in the House!!! I can't help but notice that the "Remain in New Jersey" option in my super-special poll is lagging far behind the New York, Seattle, Gravel Pit, or even the Witness Relocation Program options, and I have to admit that I'm a bit disappointed. I consider myself a Jersey kinda guy, and The Donk a Jersey kinda blog, so this can only mean that I have failed to effectively extol its virtues.

That's why I'm bringing in the professionals, since I obviously don't have the cognitive capacity to do so. NJGuido.com is a remarkable site devoted to the sheer joy of summertime down the Jersey Shore. The hottest clubs, music, ladies — they're all there and all good. NJGuido's philosophy is "There are no excuses. Party like a rockstar," and it's a philosophy they live to the absolute fullest.

Living is being an anxious lion with a heart that is filled with strength not from rest or from perfection but from the feeling of being alive and the thought of getting older, knowing that one day it will not be able to rule the jungle and catch its prey any longer. Everyday you wake up to life but are you living? Go out and prey on the feeling of being young, knowing that this is your time to truly live. Have a lion heart and live. Don't miss a weekend, there are no excuses.

Most religions have started with less-elegant and convincing credos than this.

Anyway, before you vote again, please read NJ Anthem, which sums up the sheer glorious wonder of the Garden State in the summer. God bless us, every one.

August 22, 2002

I've created a little poll to your left to help answer this whole relocation question once and for all. I'm tired of the numerous threatening messages, the late-night phone calls, the hired goons banging on my door at two in the morning. It's time to settle this hullabaloo the only fair way: a completely arbitrary and unverifiable poll with no controls or safeguards. Get to it!

In other Donk news, we're slowly and surely coming up on our 50,000th visitor, and that lucky gal or guy is gonna get them a prize that makes all my other prizes look like bags of flaming dogcrap left on your doorstep. Keep your eyes peeled.

''I don't get it,'' he begins in typical [Mike] Piazza fashion, a tone that suggests that what he really doesn't get is how other people don't see things his way. ''It's just amazing to me that people think we're striking just to make more money. I appreciate the money and the lifestyle, but it's not the reason why I play. If you take everything away from me I would be able to put a roof over my head and food on my table. I'd do something. I wouldn't sit around and moan about guys who are making money.''

He's on a roll: ''And then people will read this and say: 'Oh, how dare you, your dad was rich. Blah. Blah. Blah.' I'm sick of that. There's a lot of opportunity out there. Go and make it. I give 100 percent to what I'm doing. I'm not going to apologize for what I make. That's not what this country is about. As players, we're fighting to make what the market will bear. We're centurions for the American way.''

Memo to the soon-to-be-striking players (and owners, for that matter): if you're looking to win over our hearts and minds, be sure to keep in mind that we're the frigging market that you're attempting to gauge the bearability of, and avoid that whole American Centurion tack, since it frankly makes us want to punch all of you in the throat.

In a related note, the "With whom do you side in the baseball contract dispute?" Times poll that accompanies the article has the owners and players running even at about 20% each, with Neither garnering about 60%.

August 20, 2002

Jeez, I had a whole bunch of brilliant stuff ready to post, but it all kinda got lost on the PATH ride back to Jersey City. Crap. I remember thinking that it was going to be really funny and cool, so I guess we all lose. Me sleepy anyway.

Oh, I did learn something on the D Train heading to Yankee Stadium: if you're a bald, way-overweight, poorly groomed 40-year-old guy in an ill-fitting Jason Giambi jersey, repeatedly saying, "Dude, that is exactly why I'm not in a relationship" in reply to your friend's tales of womanly woe is a great way to make everyone on the train understand that your singleness is completely voluntary, and has absolutely nothing to do with issues of attractiveness, hygiene, or large ketchup stains on the front of said Giambi jersey.

Meanwhile, here's a quick update on my relocation decision:

The East Coast folks are threatening to kick my ass if I even think about moving back west.

The West Coasters, in a stunning display of two-can-play-at-thatness, have threatened to kick my ass if I don't think about moving back west.

The purpose of The Air Guitar World Championships is to promote world peace. According to the ideology of air guitar playing all war and disease would cease to exist and all bad things would disappear if everyone in the world only played air guitar. This is why at the end of every competition all people in the world are invited to play air guitar simultaneously.

Of course, everybody's wondering if anyone can dethrone reigning champ Zac Monro of London, who is looking to become the first repeat champion. Last year, Zac rocked out to Blur's Song 2 (which was also enjoyed heartily by tonight's Yankee Stadium crowd, which "Woo-Hoo"ed right along), but is keeping this year's choice under wraps until showtime.

I want a new stadium, with plenty of luxury boxes! Ever since I announced my upcoming forced relocation, a classic East/West Coast bidding war has broken out in the message boards, with each side making their case to be my next home.

The Seattle folks have teamed up to offer me, among many other things, all the croutons and Ichi-rolls I can eat, a lifetime membership to the Lusty Lady, Mount Rainier, and a plate of cookies with a tuck-in to top off every night. The East Coast folks have threatened to kick my ass if I move. So it's pretty much a toss-up right now, I guess.

If you're like me — a man who may conceivably go out on a date at some point in his life — then you'll definitely want to check out Edie Singleton's Mating Call for a few pointers on what you can do to look like a massive tool:

He mentioned a couple times that he basically expects a kiss at the end of a first date, because if you don't kiss, what's the point? I responded that it was funny that I totally didn't feel that way! He said, especially after shelling out a lot of dough, etc, etc, it is nice to get a kiss. I insisted on paying for half of everything.

Seriously, I'd like to stick up for my gender and such, but this is the third or fourth dating story I've heard recently where we end up looking like total retards. Guys, let's be careful out there.

Over/Under: days the general public will discuss the strike: 1 (possible influence: American Idol finale on September 4).

Over/Under: days the strike will be the main topic on WFAN Sports Radio: 3 (possible influence: NFL/Giants season opener on September 5)

As big a fan as I am, and as much as I'd like to see the Mariners in the playoffs, if there is a strike I doubt it would take more than a couple of days for me to completely forget about baseball. The same seems to be true for most of the people I've spoken with: hardly anybody can understand why these jerks can't get there act together, and not many more care. (Now that I think about it, the only people I know who would really care are some heavy sports bettors who need their daily fix.) Bleh on all of them — bleh, I say!

August 18, 2002

New York Notes. I caught the second half of 24 Hour Party People last night, a darn fun film that captures the inspiration and the stories, if not quite the madness, behind one of my favorite musical movements: the Manchester sound of the 80's. I can't really offer a full review, since I'm still hoping to check out the first half of the film.

Why did I miss so much of the film, you may ask? Because my friends told me to meet them at a certain bar near the theater, then thought that the bar was closed because "it looked dark inside" (shocking, I know), leaving a message on my (not with me cellphone) to meet them at a different bar. Oh, I was not-so-much pleased. Anyway, after the movie we spent many hours and dollars at some bar which had the sign "Please be aware of all your possessions at all times," which I thought was an interesting philosophy.

Finally, on my way to the PATH station, some car slammed on the brakes near where this other couple and I were walking. The female passenger rolled down her window and screamed, "OHMYGOD!!! Did you see that rat?!?!" Three in the freaking morning, walking in the middle of New York Freaking City, and I have some idiots scaring the shit outta me with the news that there's a rat on the loose. After a quick call to alert the media I was on the train back home.

August 15, 2002

Well, no more, Quaker Oats Company. You can keep your tortured oats and your freakish pancake powder, because this is one customer who is on to your cruel game. Do you know what it's like to look into the face of your heretofore innocent toddler, and to discover a betrayed expression as he lets gray gruel ooze out of the corners of his mouth? "Why, Daddy?" he asked. "Why?"

Can you sleep at night, Quaker Oats Company? I can't. Not anymore.

If you can read this entire letter and remain dry-eyed, then you either have a heart of stone or are some evil hat-wearing Quaker freak.

I'm not claiming to know a lot about sales or marketing, but can it really be the best use of Slate's advertising space to repeatedly offer me this 1999 Baseball Year in Review video, or this slightly discounted copy of the 2000 Tampa Bay Devil Rays Yearbook (in case I wanted to relive their magical 69-92 season)? There is free shipping on orders over $99, in case I wanted to order 13 of these keepers. I swear, these same pieces of crap keep popping up every other time I check the site. Do I have some kind of "Will buy old garbage" cookie on my hard drive or something? Sheesh.

August 13, 2002

New Jersey: The Secret Weapon in the Fight Against Communism. There were numerous factors which contributed to the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 — decades of mismanagement, an escalating and financially crippling arms race, an increasingly unhappy populace — but I like to think that my own New Jersey had a little something to do with it. More specifically, Bon Jovi's "New Jersey," which 13 years ago today became the first U.S. album to be released legally in the Soviet Union. (Due to currency restrictions, the Russian label paid for the albums with a truckload of firewood.) The group also helped organize and perform in the Moscow Music Peace Festival, the first of its kind in the U.S.S.R., giving Soviet youth some idea of the glories that awaited them if they overthrew the Communist regime and built some Turnpikes and Skee-Ball alleys.

It's turned into Relationship Month over at Paul Frankenstein's mercurial blog, and while I personally prefer to wait until the temperature drops back into the double-digits to discuss such weighty matters, Paul jumps right in to ask and sort of answer the tough questions: Men are pigs: yes or no? and Women: are all of them psycho?

I remember once seeing a trial lawyer on TV discuss the jury system, describing it as the worst possible method for determining guilt or innocence...except for all the alternatives. That ran through my head as I read this New York Press report from Russell Birnbaum, the foreman for the federal jury in the retrial of former police officer Charles Schwarz in connection with the Abner Louima affair.

The cumulative weight of the evidence was leading us to believe the government’s accusation that Mr. Schwarz held down Mr. Louima when he was violated by Officer Justin Volpe. But this one lone juror rejected the testimony of almost every witness who testified against Mr. Schwarz. Anyone who spoke against Mr. Schwarz was automatically mistaken, misguided, duplicitous. "Liars. They are all liars—or maybe they forget," she said of the prosecution’s witnesses. "How do I know?" In a broad and unmistakable inflection, our obstructionist uttered this generic reply to almost every question.
[...]
[S]everal jurors asked our obstructionist if any evidence, real or imaginary, would persuade her of Mr. Schwarz’s guilt. She replied, "I don’t know."

It's worth reading to see how sometimes the most important things in life are decided by a few random, crazy factors.

Now, I don't consider myself either sanctimonious or tedious (though I have been known to be a touch oversensitive on occasion), but the idea that Bowden will be calling on Beamer's spirit to spur the Seminoles to convert a third-and-long against Miami seems a bit...unseemly.

Ted Williams' son may be trying to freeze his dad in order to sell his DNA later on. The family of Martin Luther King Jr. charges textbook publishers to reproduce his speeches and has licensed the footage of his "I have a dream" speech for a television commercial. Am I equating the "Let's roll" usage with these acts? Not at all. But no matter who owns the rights to Beamer's or King's words, the truth is that they're really owned by all of us (not to get too corny here), or else they wouldn't mean anything at all. While it maintains certain important legal rights regarding usage, the Foundation does not get to decide what the phrase and the courage that inspired it means to any individual.

August 11, 2002

Donkey Command Central needs a new base of operations. I just got a horrible, horrible e-mail from my landlords, informing me that they are selling the condo and, therefore, kicking me out, effective pretty darn soon. I love this place and all its fun little extras, and having to leave will completely blow. So...anybody know about a Blogger-friendly apartment?

A Fine Blogging First! Kudos to Edie Singleton of A Mating Call in the Concrete Jungle for adding a new level to the blogger/reader relationship. Edie has one of them TagBoard Message Boards, and she has announced that she will be online and chatting on her site every weekday afternoon from 1-2. Got a question about one of her posts? Want to ask her out? Well, now you can, in real time! This could be the start of something big.

And even if you're too busy to chat, you should still head over there for lines like "the one night stand with the lumberjack" and "[h]e is supposed to be getting a tattoo in my neighborhood in a couple weeks, and he asked me if I wanted to meet him afterwards and hang out somewhere and check out his new ink." It sure beats Skee-Ball.

If you're looking for that surefire web address you'll want to check out Heather Cochran's I Come to Bury IAmCarbonatedMilk.com, Not to Praise It in Salon, which will introduce you to DeletedDomains.com. Every day tens of thousands of domain names are allowed to lapse, thrown back into the big Internet sea, waiting to be snatched up by some lucky bastard like you!

Just to offer one example: in the last week alone donkeythong.com, frothingdonkey.com, steriledonkey.com, and goldsteindental.com have become available. For months I've been thinking about either changing this blog's name or taking up dentistry, and now I can do both! Just think of what you'll find!

My dear friend Juliette Aiyana, a licensed acupuncturist and a heck of a gal, has written "Our Food Relationships," a fine article about oriental dietary therapy for The Pulse of Oriental Medicine Magazine. She offers some basic recommendations for healthy eating, and trust me, if you got a gander at her you'd follow whatever advice she gave ya.

August 05, 2002

Speaking of cool blogs you should be reading, check out Sickside, Kimberley's raw recollections on her time spent in the L.A. County prison system. It sure as hell beats another thoughtful and well-reasoned political essay.

New Link Policy. (I'm trying to head off a bunch of angry e-mails, here, so feel free to skip this post if you don't care about such inside blogging minutiae.) I've always tried to keep my links list fairly brief, in order so that visitors wouldn't be overwhelmed and might actually click on a link or two. There's a few sites in themain blog that I've humpedlike a drunken dog in heat, but for the most part I've tried to just stick some good links over there and hope that a few people checked them out. I had hoped to limit my list to about 25 blogs.

Now, as any math major can tell you, when you have a set number of blogs in a list, whenever you add a new one it means that an old one needs to be removed. Sometimes a link would be removed for a while and then returned, other times not. What I wanted was to keep the list fresh and to avoid was one of those massive 100+ permalink lists that are now pretty much the norm. I'm on a few of those lists, and while I certainly appreciate every link I get, it's practically impossible to get any kind of traffic from them. I figured I'd rather try and get 20 blogs a few hits than 100 blogs none.

This seemed to work well until about a month ago when, for the first time, a bunch of those folks whose blogs I delisted e-mailed me, asking what was up. (Probably not coincidentally, this all started around the same time as N.Z. Bear's Blogosphere Ecosystem, a method of ranking blogs based on the number of sites linking to them.) Well, I usually felt pretty embarrassed about the whole thing, so I would just put the writer's blog back up, which twice led to a different blogger getting bumped and then e-mailing me. To make things easier I stopped removing links, just adding new ones. The list went from 25 to 30 to 35, then 40, to the point where there were links on my own list I was reading less than once a week.

Which brings us to now, and to the much-reduced list at left. I've created a permalink list of ten blogs, as well as some "frequently rotated" (ha ha) Rotisserie Links. What this means is that your blog link may be gone, but it may very well return soon. I'm sorry if this bugs anybody, but blogging ain't all sunshine and puppies.

(Editor's Note: While we here at The Donk have always pledged to concentrate on the art and ignore the merchandising and speculation that has surrounded this blog, recent events have made this difficult, if not impossible. After receiving dozens of letters and e-mails from loyal readers and collectors who have been scammed by unscrupulous dealers selling counterfeit issues, mislabeled reprints, and the like, we have decided to include the following excerpt from Overstreet's Blog Price Guide to provide some help to those looking to get started in this fast-growing hobby.)

13 $55 O: Mike Whybark (Warning: Counterfeit versions of this issue have been discovered. The most common counterfeit can be determined by its fuzzy indicia, as well as MW's missing handlebar mustache on p14.)

In case any of you wanted to learn a little more about my appearance and demeanor — the Ken behind the charming Donk persona, as it were — Mike Whybark describes me in somewhat disturbing and disconcerting detail in his latest MW of the Week. I can take issue with several facts, but I'd rather just let the mystery of the real me grow. Still, I have to think that any testimonial that compares me to Wallace, Steve Buscemi in Ghost World, and George Costanza ain't gonna help me in gettin' the ladies.

Poll Results. Well, it was a close battle, but John Rocker's pungent Sports Illustrated comments ("[New York is] the most hectic, nerve-racking city. Imagine having to take the [Number] 7 train to the ballpark, looking like you're [riding through] Beirut next to some kid with purple hair next to some queer with AIDS right next to some dude who just got out of jail for the fourth time right next to some 20-year-old mom with four kids. It's depressing.") was named by Donk readers as Major League Baseball's Least Memorable Moment. Hmmm...I can't help but wonder if a certain long-suffering fan of Texas Rangers (Rocker's current team) might have stuffed the ballot box.

August 03, 2002

Sorry about the lack of posting, Scott, but I've been dang busy lately. Continuing the good life theme, I spent my half-day yesterday wandering around New York, visiting the main Public Library branch and the brand-spanking-new American Folk Art Museum (definitely worth a visit, and free on Friday nights). Last night I saw The Breeders, with Imperial Teen opening. The folks who had seen them during their original run were pleased if not thrilled, but I thought it was all pretty fun and exciting, even if Kim Deal is crazier than a sack of hens and the Deal sisters each went through about three packs of cigs in an hour show. In cross-culture news, the band played the Buffy theme, and the Deal sisters will apparently appear on the show. Well, I'm off again. The world calls.